


Each Day Anew

by niffizzle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Amnesia, Auror Draco Malfoy, F/M, Memory Loss, Pensieves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-26 22:59:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15011288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niffizzle/pseuds/niffizzle
Summary: When Hermione wakes up in a strange bedroom with no memory of how she got there, she has to rely on the series of memories anonymously left on a table in order to piece it all together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Dramione Fanfiction Writers' Troping Thursday theme of Amnesia, but then spiraled way beyond the word count limit. This will be a short, three chapter fic, with updates on the next two Fridays.
> 
> Special thanks as always to CourtingInsanity for being my beta even when real life is currently kicking her butt!

Hermione rubbed her eyes, her head dizzy as the morning light crept its way closer. She threw a pillow over her head, trying to salvage a few more minutes of shuteye before she would have to get up and continue her research. She only had a day left before she had to return to the Ministry, so she would need to take full advantage of the daylight -- in five more minutes, that is.

Although come to think of it, she couldn’t recall how or when she had fallen asleep. Last she remembered, she had been in the middle of the forest, tracking thestral mating habits. But hadn’t she been camping? It felt like a bed under her, and this was a fluffier pillow than the one that she had packed.

Hermione sat up with a startle and looked around. She most certainly was no longer in a tent. The room was foreign but still somehow familiar. There were small trinkets that she recognised from her flat: the framed painting of two ballerinas that her parents had purchased from the art museum, the handheld mirror that her grandmother had given her on her fifteen birthday, the embroidered throw blanket that her mother had quilted together using pieces of her childhood clothing. These were all things that she knew to be hers and hers alone, yet that didn’t explain how they, or she for that matter, had arrived at this unknown location.

Her fingers threaded through the typical mess that was her hair in the morning hours and settled on a bump just above her right ear.

That was new.

She patted around the protrusion, trying her best to recount the events of the day before. She had been out in the Kielder Forest and had spotted thestral tracks -- that much she was sure. Everything after that was fuzzy.

Maybe she had tripped and fallen and needed medical attention. But this wasn’t St. Mungos, and it wasn’t a Muggle hospital either. It was clearly a bedroom. Only it wasn’t _her_ bedroom. And none of this explained how some of her most cherished belongings were there.

Perhaps if she got out of bed, she would find answers. Her feet met the wood flooring, but before she properly arose, her attention was drawn to a series of clear vials resting on the nightstand. Each one was labelled with a number, all filled with swirling silvery wisps that she recognised to be memories. Next to the vials, there was a card.

_Pensieve is located next to the closet. Come downstairs when you are ready._

There was something oddly familiar about the handwriting, but it wasn’t Ron or Harry’s. She had reviewed their homework enough times to have their handwriting forever imprinted in her mind. Whoever’s handwriting it was, she was confident she had seen it before. Yet that was hardly the main question in her mind right now.

Memories? A Pensieve? Why did she need either of those things?

Her hand returned to the bump on the side of her head. She strained to remember any more details of how she had gotten into this position, but her memory continued to fail her.

There was a sharp pull in her stomach. Maybe if she watched the contents of the vials, she would have some answers. She picked up the glass vials and found the Pensieve on the opposite side of the room. She selected the vial with the number one written on top and poured the contents into the stone basin. After securing her hair in a low ponytail and taking a deep breath, she plunged her head inside.

Suddenly, Hermione was falling through the darkness until she crashed onto tiled floor. When the surroundings came into focus, she immediately recognised Harry’s office. For a second, Hermione was relieved to see her old friend and poised herself to ask him what was going on, but quickly remembered that this was a memory -- probably his. He sat alone at his desk, filling out some Auror reports when Ron came in.

“Have you seen Hermione? She was supposed to be back yesterday, but no one from her department has heard from her.”

Harry’s head lifted up. “What? She didn’t owl?”

Ron shook his head, and a worried expression appeared.

Harry pushed his work aside. “Where was it that she said she was going?”

“Kielder Forest.”

Harry gathered the parchments. “I’ll grab my cloak.”

Hermione ran after Harry and Ron. As they pushed their way through the other witches and wizards crowding their path, her mind started to turn. She wasn’t supposed to return until tomorrow! But if this was a memory, and they were looking for her, then…

Harry made a stop at one of the offices and stepped inside.

“You’re going to have to finish these reports for me, Malfoy.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Trying to skive off early, Potter? You know you’re a terrible partner.”

Harry dropped the parchments onto his desk. “Whatever, Malfoy. Just make sure they’re turned into Robards by the end of the day.”

Harry marched out of Malfoy’s office, but Malfoy followed closely behind. “So what? I’m stuck doing the boring paperwork because the almighty Harry Potter wants to take the afternoon off?” Malfoy scoffed when he noticed Ron waiting outside. “I should have guessed. The Dunderhead Duo is off on another _grand_ adventure!”

“Shove off, Malfoy,” Ron snapped. “We have to get to the Kielder Forest.”

Malfoy’s annoyed expression faded. “Kielder Forest? Isn’t that where Granger just was?”

Harry and Ron exchanged a nervous glance. “Or still is. We don’t know. She never reported back.”

Malfoy dipped back inside his office and grabbed his cloak, much to Ron’s dismay.

“And just what exactly do you think you’re doing?” Ron snarled.

Malfoy fastened the cloak over his robes, the sneer on his face back in full force. “It’s my job to make sure that Potter doesn’t get killed, and Merlin knows I can’t trust you to do that for me.”

“We’ll be fine,” Ron defended, a slight flare reddening his cheeks. “I’m sure Hermione just lost count of the days and needs a reminder to come back.”

Hermione immediately recognised the concern in Ron’s eyes. He may be trying to assure Malfoy that nothing was too far out of the ordinary, but they all knew better. Hermione would never forget to send an owl if she was going to extend her research.

“Don’t bother,” Malfoy dismissed, not falling for Ron’s obvious lie. “It’s a big forest, and you’ll need help searching for her.”

Harry cocked his head to the side and shrugged, and Ron responded with a groan. “Fine. But only if you promise not to complain about anything. I heard what a scaredy-cat you were when you had to go into the Forbidden Forest first year.”

Harry and Ron resumed their path down the corridor, and Malfoy shouted after them, “That was fifteen years ago! Get over it, you dimwit!”

The surroundings began to blur, and Hermione pulled her head from the memory, her heart and mind racing in tandem, both confused and alarmed by what she had witnessed.

Harry said that she hadn’t reported back from her mission, yet to the best of her knowledge, she wasn’t supposed to return yet. She clamped onto the side of her head where the bump was located. Something must have gone wrong after she started following those thestral footprints. She just wished she could remember! If Harry, Ron, and Malfoy had gone searching for her the day after her scheduled return, then she must have been passed out for almost two days.

She needed more information, and thankfully, whoever had laid out the vials must have figured that would be the case. She ushered the first memory back into its container and refilled the Pensieve with the contents of the second vial. Hermione dunked her head into the stone basin and was transported into a new memory, this time, leaves and dirt padding her fall.

The Kielder Forest was just as Hermione remembered it. The late autumn leaves covered the ground, and the creek not too far in the distance babbled through the forest. The only other disturbance was that of Harry, Ron, and Malfoy’s footsteps crunching the fallen leaves, their cries out for Hermione echoing through the trees unanswered.

“We better split up,” Harry eventually suggested. “Send up red sparks if you find her.” 

After a short debate about who would cover which area of the forest, Harry, Ron, and Malfoy went their separate ways. Hermione started to follow Harry until the memory pulled her in a different direction; instead of following the raven black hair, or even the red locks, she was dragged towards the white-blonde ones. Hermione didn’t bother to stop and wonder why she was now in Malfoy’s memory, much too curious about her own state to ask any questions.

Malfoy pushed his way through the shrubs and branches until he spotted thestral footprints. Pulling out his wand and gripping it tightly, he tracked them deeper into the forest. The farther they travelled, the more Hermione noticed that not all of the trees were still intact. Branches were scattered across the ground in every direction, and several trees were knocked out of the earth, their roots exposed to the open breeze. She didn’t recall seeing anything like that the other day.

Suddenly, panic washed over Malfoy’s features, and he picked up his pace, jumping over fallen branches as he broke into a run. Hermione struggled to keep pace with his long legs, not thrilled at his newfound speed, but then she saw what he must have spotted. Off in a clearing was Hermione’s passed out body, an uprooted tree right beside her. 

“Granger!” Malfoy called, but there was no response. He scrambled to the ground next to her and cradled her unresponsive head into his lap. “C’mon, Granger,” he said, tapping her cheek. “Wake up.”

Yet, the Hermione in the memory laid there, completely unaware of Malfoy’s presence.

Malfoy checked her pulse, and a wave of relief seemed to flood over him when he realised that she was still breathing. He propped her head up with one hand and tested her forehead with the other, frowning at the touch. He transfigured a nearby rock into a makeshift cup and used his wand to fill it with water. He gently pried her mouth open and forced her to drink. If she had been out there alone and unconscious for two days, she was most likely dangerously dehydrated. At least Malfoy was smart enough to realise that.

Despite these efforts, however, Hermione remained unresponsive. The panic in Malfoy’s eyes returned as he shook her more urgently and the slaps on her cheeks increased in concern. “Stay with me, Granger,” he pleaded.

Since when did Malfoy give two Knuts about her well-being? Sure, he was more tolerable nowadays, but it wasn’t as if they were anywhere close to friends -- maybe acquaintances. Although, she supposed it would give her quite the startle to see a passed out body regardless of whose it was.

The worried shouts of Harry made their way through the trees, and both her and Malfoy’s heads snapped up at the sound. He returned Hermione’s body to the ground and lifted his wand into the air, shooting red sparks into the late afternoon sky.

As they waited for Harry to find them, Malfoy began to inspect the surrounding area, but Hermione settled next to her own unconscious body. She just laid there, pale, weak, and covered with scratches. Hermione tried to place her hand on her forehead to determine if it was a fever or chills that Malfoy had detected, but her hand passed right through her own body, unable to feel a thing. A nervous pit settled in Hermione’s gut. She knew she would ultimately be fine -- after all, she did wake up this morning -- but it was unnerving to see oneself in such a vulnerable state.

She didn’t have long to wallow in self-pity. Within seconds, Harry came bounding out from the thick of trees, heavy breaths panting out of him.

“Did you find --”

Harry’s question was answered when his eyes settled on Hermione.

“What happened?”

Malfoy pointed to something on the other side of the clearing. “There are giant footsteps over there. Must have come through and knocked down a bunch of trees, one of them taking her by surprise.”

 _Giant footsteps?_ There weren’t supposed to be any giants in the Kielder Forest!

Harry seemed just as confused. “What were giants doing here?”

Malfoy knocked his head back and groaned. “I know Granger typically explains everything to you, but would it kill you to try to figure something out yourself for once?”

Harry ignored Malfoy’s retort, much too focused on the sight of Hermione.

Malfoy appeared perturbed at first, but then his shoulders relaxed and he stepped next to Harry. “Fine. I’ll give you a free pass today. I can’t be certain, but my theory is that the giants that managed to survive the final battle travelled south and made a new home here.”

Harry nodded, only half-listening to what Malfoy said. “But is she…” His words trailed away. Harry carefully stepped closer to Hermione and knelt beside to her.

“She’s breathing if that’s what you’re asking.” Malfoy looked down at Hermione. “Although I noticed a bump right above her ear. We’re going to have to take her to St. Mungo’s and have her checked out.”

Harry observed his best friend’s still unconscious body, and after several silent seconds, stood back up. “I’ll take her there now. You wait for Ron and tell him what happened. Then he can meet me there, and you can go back to the office.”

Malfoy glared at Harry. “And what if I want to go to St. Mungo’s, too?”

Harry shook his head. “Thanks for helping, but we both know you only came along so you could get out of work, so we’ll take it from here.”

The surroundings faded away, and Hermione was transported back to the present day, breathing more heavily than she had been before the second memory, but nothing to be too concerned about. So she had bumped her head and had been passed out for a few days. While that was mildly alarming to learn, it was far from the worst thing that had ever happened to her. After all, she had been petrified for several weeks back in second year.

Yet there were still several more vials for her to go through, meaning that there was still much more that she had missed.

She followed the same routine and dove into a new memory, now landing outside one of the St. Mungo’s rooms. Ron and Malfoy stood in the middle of the corridor, an exasperated look on the blonde’s face. The memories must be cycling through each one of the boys, and it was now Ron’s turn to be the narrator. Hermione stood between the former adversaries, both of them oblivious to her presence, but noticeably frustrated.

“What do you mean they don’t know how long it will be until she wakes up?

“How the hell am I supposed to know, Malfoy? I’m not a healer either!”

“Have you at least spoken to one?”

“No, not at all. I’ve been here for six hours twiddling my thumbs while one of my best friends just lies there. _Of course we’ve spoken with a bloody healer!_ ”

Malfoy sneered, dismayed by Ron’s snippy reaction. “Go take a break, Weasley. You’ve been here for too long.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “And what exactly would you prefer that I do?”

“Eat something, take a nap, paint the Mona Lisa, I don’t care. But you being here isn’t doing Granger or me any favours.”

Ron’s lips curled into a frown. “I don’t know why you bothered coming. Harry and I had this sufficiently covered.”

“Someone needed to make sure you two didn’t do something to piss off half the healing staff,” he quickly retorted. “Now take a page out of Potter’s book and get some food in you. You can trust me with her for fifteen minutes.”

Ron seemed hesitant to leave, only moving once Malfoy shoved him into motion.

“Fine. But if I find out that you did something to her while we’re gone, I’ll --”

“Oh, grow up, Weasley! The only thing you need to be concerned about hurting her is another fallen tree. Now get out of my sight and don’t come back until you’ve calmed down.”

Hermione turned to follow Ron, but once again felt the memory pulling her back, forcing her to stay in place as Ron disappeared down the corridor. She looked back at Malfoy, confused. Why was she in another one of Malfoy’s memories?

The man in question checked his surroundings and deeming the coast clear, dipped inside her hospital room, Hermione closely following him.

The Hermione in the memory laid in the bed, her eyes closed and a series of empty potion bottles sitting on her bedside. In the bright lighting of the room, Hermione could see the visible cuts that adorned her features. Scratches were scattered up and down her arms, and there was a ghastly gash that spanned halfway up her cheekbone.

“Fucking hell, Granger,” Malfoy said, scanning his eyes over her body. “You look terrible.”

Hermione scoffed. Leave it to Malfoy to insult her even when she was unconscious.

But there was something different in the way that he said it this time. She had endured his unwarranted insults for over half her life, yet this one didn’t hold nearly as much bite as they did typically. Perhaps there was an actual heart inside his cruel exterior that felt some sympathy for her comatose state.

He dragged one of the nearby chairs next to her bedside and took a seat, still examining her, and sat there in silence for several minutes.

Hermione kept waiting for something more to happen, but Malfoy remained in his spot, not once letting his eyes wander away from her. Staying in this memory was starting to feel like a waste of time, especially when there were still several more vials left for her perusal, but there had to be a reason why it was included.

She waited and waited, about to give up and move onto memory number four, when Malfoy’s head fell into his hands and she thought she heard something that sounded oddly like a whimper. Hermione took a step closer, not convinced that she had heard correctly, but it was true -- Draco Malfoy was crying.

Hermione pulled back and stared at his slumped-over form. Why on Earth was he crying? It wasn’t as if he was the one who was injured!

The tears subsided, and he sat up in his chair, wiping away any evidence of moisture that glistened on his cheeks. “We need you to wake up, Granger,” he said, a mild choke in his voice. “I don’t think any of us can bear any more losses.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Hermione pulled herself out of the latest memory, she was left more confused than anything. Malfoy? Crying? _Over her?_ But she hardly had time to focus on that. She looked over at the series of vials. There were still at least ten left. What else had happened while she had been unconscious? 

She uncorked the next memory and let the contents of the fourth vial fill the Pensieve. She dunked her head in to find herself in yet another one of Malfoy’s memories. He was pacing outside her hospital bedroom, mumbling to himself with a bouquet of flowers in hand. Hermione couldn’t make out any of the words, but he was distressed about something. Eventually, he seemed to reach a conclusion and discarded the flowers into a nearby trash bin and entered her room.

Hermione followed but stopped in the door frame the second she stepped inside.

It was daytime now, and the room was filled with other small tokens of sympathy and get well wishes. Cards, balloons, and flowers cluttered the room where Ron and Harry were already on either side of her bed, huge smiles on their faces as they laughed about something. In the middle was Hermione, her eyes fully open as she smiled along with her best friends.

Hermione had to blink several times to convince herself she wasn’t imagining it. How could she be awake if she didn’t remember this? She watched with confused intrigue as Malfoy stepped to the foot of her bed. Their conversation paused as all three Gryffindors turned to him.

“Mighty fine of you to finally wake up, Granger.”

The Hermione in the memory smiled slightly. “I had a lot of sleep I needed to catch up on.”

“A week is a lot of sleep.”

“I suppose so, but the healers say I’m lucky,” Hermione said, adjusting herself so that she sat up more properly. “They said my brain was starting to lose oxygen, and it would have been a lot worse if I had been in the forest much longer. So I guess a thank you is in order for you finding me when you did.”

“Just don’t go wandering off in giant habitats any time soon,” Malfoy said with a teasing smirk. “I already have to make sure Potter doesn’t get killed in action. I can’t keep saving the lives of his friends as well.”

Harry glared at Malfoy, but Malfoy ignored it.

“Now, if you two would excuse us, I’d like to speak with Granger alone.”

Ron and Harry turned to check Hermione’s reaction, but she didn’t object. They appeared hesitant but gave in to his request.

“We’ll be right outside if you need us,” Harry said to Hermione.

“Yeah,” Ron added. “Give us a holler if you need us to intervene or something.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’ll only be a few minutes. You can have your precious Granger all to yourselves after that.”

Ron and Harry closed the door behind them, leaving Malfoy alone in the room with Hermione. Malfoy leaned his hands on the end of her bed frame.

“You look good for someone who just recovered from such a severe head injury.”

Both Hermiones stared at Malfoy blankly. Was that… a compliment? It was nothing more than a backhanded one at best, but still nice considering it was Malfoy who said it.

“Uh, thank you?” Hermione said, giving Malfoy an odd look. “Is there something you wanted to talk with me about?”

Malfoy stood up properly. “Just wanted to speak to you without Potter and Weasley jumping down my throat and over-analysing every word that comes out of my mouth.”

“Well, thank you for stopping by, but the healers say I should be fine. They want to keep me overnight just in case, though.”

“Seems fair. You did give us a proper scare, after all.”

“ _Us?_ Please Malfoy, just because I’m in St. Mungo’s doesn’t mean you need to pretend to care about me.”

Malfoy shrugged. “While I don’t particularly like you, that doesn’t mean I want to see you dead. You and I have already had to endure enough pain and suffering.”

The bedridden Hermione cracked a smile. “You don’t want me dead? You know, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”

Malfoy laughed. “I suppose so. But if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.” He patted his hand on her bed as a form of farewell. “Well, I’ll let you get back to Potter and Weasley. Get better soon. I’ll see you around the Ministry.”

When Hermione pulled herself out of this memory, her mind was in a convoluted cloud. It was refreshing to see Malfoy relatively cordial, but there was a more pressing issue at hand -- how was it that she didn’t remember any of this happening?

An uncomfortable pit formed in her stomach. She picked up the next vial and watched the silver wisps dance inside, fearful of what laid within. She had a feeling that her concerns would be confirmed in this next memory and almost didn’t want to know, but she had to.

She was transported back into the Ministry, once again in Harry’s office. Harry was visibly distraught as his paperwork laid spread out across his desk, none of it touched, as Malfoy stood in front of him.

“Is it true?”

Harry subtly nodded his head without making eye contact.

“Fuck,” Malfoy gasped, and the uncomfortable pit that had already been in Hermione’s stomach grew to the size of a canyon. “And the healers say --”

“There’s nothing they can do. The brain’s tricky and even healers don’t know much about how it works. The hippocampus is damaged too severely.”

Silence filled the room, the heavy implication lingering in their unspoken sorrow.

Hermione felt the bump on the side of her head once more. When that tree had hit it her, it must have done more than render her unconscious. If her hippocampus was damaged, then that meant…

“So she’ll never be able to form new memories?” Malfoy said, breaking the silence.

Harry shook his head. “She wakes up every day still thinking she’s in the forest, no idea what happened. She still can’t remember what happened immediately before the accident either. A mix of retrograde amnesia and permanent anterograde amnesia.”

Hermione didn’t wait for this memory to end. She pulled her head out of the Pensieve and brought herself back to the present in a rush of panic. It was worse than she feared. At the very most, she thought there had been a relapse in her recovery, or maybe even a second accident, but to learn that she’d never be able to form new memories was _much_ worse.

How many days had she woken up like this, believing she was still in the forest only to discovered that her life was now permanently changed? And that still didn’t answer her original question: where was she now?

She ran to the dresser and picked up the mirror from her grandmother, looking at her reflection on its surface. She released a massive sigh of relief when she recognised her face in the mirror. At least it hadn’t been so much time that she had aged too much, but that didn’t make her feel better. Time would continue without her gaining any new memories, and eventually, she would wake up every morning in terror to discover that she was now years older than her last recollection.

She toyed with the rest of the memories that contained some of the answers of what she had missed -- or rather, what she had been a part of, but would never remember. She clamped her hand tight around vial number six, nervous, but far too desperate for answers to stop now.

The next memory brought her back to St. Mungo’s where Hermione laid alone in the hospital room. It was unsettling to be in one of her own memories, seeing something from her own perspective as an outsider. She sat there reading a book, taking copious notes as she did.

There was a knock on her door. She expected Harry or Ron to be the one to enter, but instead, it was Malfoy.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Present day Hermione wondered the same thing. So far, every memory had centred around Malfoy, and she still couldn’t figure out why.

“Heard about your condition and just wanted to check in and see how you were doing.”

It was an oddly nice thing for Malfoy to do, and while he typically wouldn’t be her first choice in guest, she supposed there wasn’t a visitor Hermione wouldn’t entertain while stuck on bed rest.

Malfoy stepped next to her and inspected the book curiously.

“Just because I can’t remember anything the next day doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying to learn,” Hermione said before he could even get out a question. “If I take thorough notes, then I’ll be able to review them the next day and get the gist of it without having to reread the whole book.”

Malfoy looked impressed. “Leave it to Hermione Granger to believe the worst part of permanent anterograde amnesia is that she can’t remember what she’s read. But aren’t you concerned about anything else?”

Hermione frowned. “Well, of course, I am! But I can’t fix everything at once! The healers are doing their best, but they seem to be losing hope. They’re probably going to send me home soon anyway. I can tell they’re getting rather annoyed with having to explain everything to me each morning.”

Malfoy perked up, an idea seeming to hit him. “What if they didn’t have to?”

“Of course they have to, Malfoy,” she snapped with slight resentment. “Or are you having memories issues yourself and can’t recall that _I can’t form new memories?_ ”

Malfoy ignored her snide remark. “But what if there was another solution? Instead of them explaining everything to you, we collected memories for you to watch each morning to catch you up on what you missed.”

Hermione paused and considered his suggestion. “That’s actually not a bad idea.”

Malfoy took out his wand and placed its tip next to her forehead, but she knocked it away.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” she cried.

“I’m going to save this memory!” he defended. “Otherwise future you will never believe me, and I’ll be stuck having this conversation with you every day.”

Hermione scrunched her eyebrows together. “You mean, you’ll compile the memories for me?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “It’s a rather complicated spell. But if you’d rather I call for Potter or Weasley…”

“You can do it.”

Malfoy smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

He returned his wand to her temple, but she brushed it away once more.

“What now, Granger?” he groaned.

Hermione cocked her head and stared at him. “You don’t like me, Malfoy, and I must say, even though you apparently helped save my life, I’ve never been particularly wild about you either. So why are you bothering to help me?"

Malfoy shrugged. “Guilt for not finding you earlier? Maybe pity? Don’t know. But are you going to complain?”

She shook her head.

“Good. Then let’s get started.”

The memory faded out, and Hermione felt strangely calmed by the most recent scene. That explained why so many of the memories were from Malfoy’s perspective; he must have used those to start her collection. In the wake of her accident, he had pushed their bad blood aside once and for all to help her. It was surprisingly selfless of him. She’d have to thank him whenever she saw him next.

The next few vials weren’t nearly as full as the others. They were short wisps, and Hermione expected that those memories would be small snippets instead of full conversations. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, waiting only a few seconds before she poured the contents of the seventh vial into the Pensieve and began to watch the next several memories in quick succession.

First, she was back in her flat in London, sitting on the sofa with Harry, Ron, and Malfoy, a pile of vials resting on the table and a large stone basin floating before them.

“I still can’t believe you collected all of these for me, Malfoy,” Hermione said in disbelief. “You don’t even like me.”

Malfoy groaned. “If I have to hear you say that one more time, I’m going to dump all these memories down the drain.”

Hermione turned scarlet red. “I don’t mean any offence. It’s just that --”

“Yes, yes, I know. _It’s so hard to believe I’d help you. This must have taken so much time and effort. But I hate you._ Yeah, you say that every bloody day. Now, can we figure out which of these memories to use so tomorrow I might be spared from this conversation?”

Harry picked up one of the vials. “This is the one of Ron telling me that no one had heard from Hermione. I think we should use it first. Give her some backstory instead of going straight to the forest.”

“Plus it’s from your perspective, Harry, so I’ll feel more comfortable,” Hermione reasoned.

“Especially if we’re then going to use Malfoy’s memory of finding her,” Ron chimed in.

“Yes, I was just about to say that,” Hermione said. “His memory gives context as to where I was and what happened.” Hermione then turned to Malfoy. “I don’t know how many times I’ve said it, but thank you for coming that day and for everything else you’ve done after. Collecting memories was a brilliant idea, although you really didn’t need to give me your family’s Pensieve.”

Malfoy shrugged. “We don’t use it often. Besides, if I ever need it back, I can always steal it, and you’ll wake up the next morning, no idea you ever even had it.”

Even though Malfoy was clearly only kidding, Ron and Harry both glared at Malfoy, but Hermione laughed. “Deal. Just wait until I’m sleeping, though, so you don’t ruin my day.”

Next, she was at a library, perusing the books when Malfoy came up beside her.

“Why am I not surprised to see you here?” he said with a chuckle.

Hermione gave him a quick glance and then returned to trying to reach one of the books on the top shelf, which Malfoy easily grabbed for her.

He inspected the cover and then released a brief laugh. “Oh, no. You don’t want this one. You’ve already read it.”

“But I don’t have any notes on it!” Hermione defended.

“If my memory serves me right, which, let’s be honest, we can trust my memory more than we can trust yours, you said it was so terrible, you wanted to save your future self from even remembering the title.” He returned the book to the shelf and picked out another. “Trust me. You’ll like this one better.”

Then she was in the Ministry, sitting in front of Harry’s desk.

“Apparently I’m supposed to have a meeting with Trikman today to give him an update about my research on the thestral mating habits, but I can’t find any of my notes to help me with what I’m supposed to say!”

Harry gave her a sympathetic half-smile. “I know it’s difficult, Hermione, but if you talk with him, he should be accommodating.”

“But I don’t want him to have to be accommodating!” Hermione huffed. “I just want to be able to do my job properly!”

“Then why don’t you talk to Malfoy?”

Hermione stared at Harry. “Why would I ever talk to Malfoy about this?”

Harry shrugged. “He’s been really helpful this past couple of months, and you two somewhat get along now. He has loads more memories of yours than the ones we show you every morning, so if you need something, you can go to him.”

After that, she was walking down Diagon Alley, shopping bags in hand, once again finding herself alongside Malfoy.

“Tell me that didn’t really happen!” she said with a vibrant smile.

“I swear to Merlin it did. If you want, I have the memory of that one, too, but you begged me to never show it to you.”

Hermione continued to laugh. “Then why are you telling me now?”

“I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. Just once, I needed the pleasure of that look on your face when I told you that you spilt tea all over the Minister of Magic.”

“Well, if you want, I give you permission to tell me again tomorrow. It feels good to have something to laugh about.”

“And it’s nice to hear you laugh.” Malfoy adjusted the bags in his hands and then turned to Hermione. “As I’m sure you can imagine, it’s been a difficult few months for all of us, but we seem to be getting to a place where every day isn’t a shock for you, and we can almost live normal lives again.”

The smile on Hermione’s face flickered away. “Well, maybe more normal for you all, but my life will never be anywhere close to normal again.” She sucked in a breath and sighed. “There are so many things I feel like I’m going to continue to miss out on because of my condition.”

“Like what exactly?”

A frown now formed on her face. “I just think about what will happen when I’m older. I always wanted a family, but that hardly seems like an option anymore. How can I have a productive relationship when I wouldn’t even remember I’m in one?”

She grabbed one more vial, this one the same volume as the earlier memories, and found herself back in Harry’s office. Malfoy and Harry were taking off their Auror robes after returning from a mission.

“Next time we’re in a situation like that, you need to listen to what I say, Potter!” Malfoy scolded. “I told you to go left for a reason!”

“If I went left, I would have gone straight into their line of fire!”

“Yeah, well, instead, I got hit, and I’ve got the bloody wound to prove it!” Malfoy cried, motioning to a wrapped bandage around his upper bicep.

“Just get to the infirmary, and you’ll be fine,” Harry dismissed. “And if it will make you feel better, I’ll even do the incident report all by myself this time.”

Malfoy scoffed. “How magnanimous of you.”

Harry pulled out the parchment and started to write the date on the report, but Malfoy had yet to move out of his office.

“Is there something else you want to chastise at me about, Malfoy?”

Malfoy folded his arms across his chest. “I can come up with about ten more things, but I know it’d be a waste of my time, so I won’t bother.” He took a step towards Harry’s desk. “Although I did just want to give you a heads up that I plan on asking Granger out tomorrow.”

The quill in Harry’s hand froze. “That’s a terrible idea!” he criticised. “You can’t do that!”

“Well, excuse me while I don’t take orders from you on what to do in my personal life,” Malfoy snapped. “I’m merely telling you because we have enough on our plates handling Granger as is, so consider this a professional courtesy.”

“But we just got to a good place with her!” Harry tried to justify.

“There’s a difference between making sure she’s functioning each day and helping her get to a point where the accident doesn’t dictate every aspect of her life!” Malfoy cried back.

“So, what? You’re gonna take her on a date to make her feel better?”

“No, I’m going to take her on a date because I’d like to take her on a date!”

Harry winced and stared blankly at Malfoy.

“But I thought you didn’t like her?”

“Why does everybody keep bloody saying that?” Malfoy groaned. “Yeah, I used to blooming hate the witch, but then several years passed, we both grew up, and all this happened. I’ve spent nearly every day with her the past few months helping with the memories, and it turns out she’s not half-bad, okay?”

Harry adjusted the brim of his glasses and sighed. “That’s all well and good, Malfoy, but she still wakes up every day thinking she’s in that forest. How the hell do you expect her to wake up thinking that she could potentially like you too?”

Malfoy slumped into one of the chairs in front of Harry’s desk and knocked his head back. “Look, I know what I’m getting myself into. Trust me. I’m not thrilled about this either. But when we were walking down Diagon Alley the other day, she started laughing, and for a moment, I thought to myself, ‘Hey, this is pretty nice.’ And then she started going on about how she feared she’d never be in a proper relationship again, and it got me thinking…”

There was a massive smile on Harry face prompting Malfoy to stop.

“Wipe that bloody expression off your face,” Malfoy sneered.

Harry’s smile widened. “Who would have guessed that Draco Malfoy’s a secret sap.”

“I’m not a sap,” he defended.

“I don’t know, sounds pretty sappy to me,” Harry continued to tease.

“Whatever, Potter,” Malfoy groaned. “I just figure why the hell not. Worst case scenario, she says no or we go on a terrible date. Either way, if it doesn’t work out, we don’t keep the memory, and she forgets it ever even happened, so I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“And if it does work out?”

Malfoy sighed. “Then my role as her memory keeper is about to get ten times more difficult.”


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione pulled herself out of the latest memory, gasping for air as she returned to the present, her mind reeling with all the different scenes she had just witnessed. Malfoy orchestrating the organisation of the memories, Malfoy helping her select the best library book, Malfoy being a resource to assist her when she needed at work, Malfoy shopping with her at Diagon Alley and making her laugh, _Malfoy wanting to ask her out._  

Malfoy, Malfoy, _Malfoy._

Every single one of the memories was centred around Malfoy. These memories weren’t telling her the story of what she had missed since her accident; they were purposefully selected to create a specific narrative, one in which she could see for herself what had unfolded between her and Malfoy over the past several months.

There were only a few vials left, and if she was correct, she could easily predict that Malfoy would be the key character in each one that remained. She uncorked the next vial in line and watched as the wisps pour out from over the lip and into the Pensieve that she now knew she had gotten from Malfoy.

She dipped her finger into the silver pool and twirled the wisps, postponing putting her head inside. She would place good money that the next memory would show Malfoy asking her out, and she paused to consider what she would say if he asked her right at this moment.

Would she go out with Draco Malfoy?

It wasn’t an easy question to answer. In many ways, she was right when she had said that it would be difficult to have a productive relationship when she wouldn’t even remember she was in one. Relationships were built on shared experiences, but how could she do that with Malfoy when the shared experiences she remembered were mostly filled with strife?

But she had witnessed a different side of him in the memories. And in those memories, he had been helpful and in many instances, kind. Well, kind for his definition of the word. But something about him was endearing. While she had only seen snippets, she had liked what she had seen of their recent interactions. He knew enough about her preferences to help her pick books, he made her laugh and temporarily forget the other problems in her life, he put their past aside in order to do what was right.

But would she say yes?

She wasn’t sure. But the fact that she wasn’t immediately saying no also said something.

She sucked in a deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs one final time before she plunged her head into the memory, finding herself standing outside her Ministry office, Malfoy right beside her with a series of vials in his hand.

“Thank you so much for letting me borrow those memories,” Hermione said looking down at the two-foot long parchment in her hands. “I wouldn’t have been able to finish this report without it.”

Malfoy snorted as a slight smile twerked on the edges of his lips. “You don’t have to thank me for borrowing your own memories. You’re more than welcome to break into my office and steal them whenever you need.”

The Hermione in the memory laughed, and present-day Hermione immediately recognised the same look of appreciation on Malfoy’s face as he observed her light-hearted enjoyment.

“I may just need to take you up on that offer,” she said with a smile. “Well, goodnight, Malfoy.”

She started to head into her office when Malfoy stopped her.

“Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you before you go home for the evening.”

Hermione tilted her head curiously. “Did you need more information about the giant colony that you and Harry are tracking?”

“No, that’s --”

“Because I’ve been reading up on giants, and according to my notes --”

“No, it has nothing to do with giants.”

“Oh! Well, I think one of my notes said something about you needing help researching --”

“It has nothing to do with work. Okay, Hermione?”

Hermione’s head jolted back in surprise. “Sorry, but I don’t think I saw any memories of you calling me Hermione before.”

“Yes, well, there has to be a first time for everything,” he mumbled to himself. Then he cleared his throat and straightened himself out, and stated plainly, “I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner. With me. On a… date.”

Hermione's head snapped back, and she just stared at him blankly. She blinked once, but a response still did not come out.

When she didn’t respond for several more seconds, Malfoy seemed to tense up. “On second thought, perhaps Potter was right,” he started to falter. “You aren’t ready for this. Forget I asked. Well, I guess I don’t have to tell you to do that. Just… I’ll see you tomorrow, and we’ll continue as if this never happened.”

Malfoy shifted away from Hermione, but he only made it two steps down the corridor.

“Yes.”

Malfoy stopped and slowly turned around, a confused expression on his face. He looked back at Hermione, as though not entirely convinced he had heard her right.

“Yes?”

Hermione stiffened her back and looked directly at Malfoy. “Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

Malfoy took a moment to process, but his confidence quickly returned to him, a satisfied smile appearing on his face. “In that case, I’ll just go upstairs and grab my cloak.”

“Wait, you mean tonight?”

“Well, of course I mean tonight,” Malfoy said with a smirk. “Can’t risk you saying yes now and then forgetting before we have a chance to go out. Besides, I already made a reservation.”

When Hermione pulled herself out of the memory, she found herself smiling for the first time all morning. She had said yes to Malfoy, and while she originally hadn’t been certain, she found that she was quite glad she did.

She picked up the next memory and bit down on her lower lip. She wondered what their date was like. Knowing Malfoy, he’d probably made reservations at some impossibly fancy restaurant that she never even knew existed in some corner of Wizarding London that she hardly ever ventured to.

As she poured the contents into the Pensieve, she was surprised to discover that there were butterflies in her stomach. It wasn’t as if she was _really_ about to go on a date with Malfoy, but this would still going to be a new experience for her. She hardly remembered the last time she had been on a first date, even when accounting for the amnesia. And now she was going on a date with Draco Malfoy.

The memory transported her to a restaurant, but there weren’t white linen tablecloths and dress robes clad waiters like she had anticipated. It was still a nice restaurant, but she recognised it immediately.

“How did you know?” Hermione asked sheepishly.

Draco put his hand on the small of her back as he led her to their table. “Well, I must admit that I asked Potter’s advice on where to go. He suggested I take you somewhere you wouldn’t expect, so I did a bit of digging and asked around and learned that this used to be one of your favourites.”

Hermione marvelled at the surroundings. It was a Muggle restaurant that she used to frequent with her parents when she was a child. She hadn’t been back in years, and just being there made Hermione nostalgic.

“You purposefully chose a Muggle restaurant, didn’t you?”

Malfoy hid a smile behind his menu. “Seeing as a lot rides on your memory of this evening, I had to pull out all the stops.”

Hermione pressed her lips together to conceal her own smile. “Well, you’re currently doing quite well.”

Malfoy nodded his head. “Good, because this night is just beginning.”

Hermione wished she could have stayed for the entire duration, sure that Malfoy had other things planned for the evening to make their first date as memorable as possible considering the circumstances, but she forced herself out of it. At this point, she had watched so many memories that it had already taken up a good chunk of her morning, and she was still left wondering who it was who was waiting for her downstairs.

The flutter in her stomach returned, suspecting that she already knew the answer.

There were only a few vials left at this point, but most of them seemed short. She dipped her head inside, again watching the next few memories one after another.

As expected, Hermione was back with Malfoy, walking down a park path on a sunny springtime day when Malfoy picked one of the flowers out of the ground and handed it to Hermione. Hermione immediately went into a lecture on how he shouldn’t pick flowers because it disturbs the ecosystem, all the while, keeping the flower tight in her grip.

Then she was in her flat, reclining on the sofa with her head in Malfoy’s lap, both of them reading their books with Hermione’s endless sea of parchments spread out along the flooring. Hermione frequently sat up to scribble something down for her to remember in the future, but always returned to her original position, much to Malfoy’s pleasure.

But not all the memories were as blissful. In one, Hermione slammed the door in Malfoy’s face, telling him that she didn’t care what he did to help with her memory, that he’d still be nothing more to her than Harry’s Auror partner that she tolerated in social situations. In another, Hermione yelled at him, accusing him of tampering with her memories to make her believe that they were in a relationship.

Even though these were obviously less happy memories, Hermione understood that Malfoy had purposefully included them. Not every day was easy, and there were some days that their apparent relationship wasn’t smooth sailing. And yet, she still awoke this morning with the memories next to her that he had laid out, hoping that today wouldn’t be one of those rougher days.

It was odd experiencing a whole relationship over the span of just a few minutes. But despite its short duration, Hermione still felt that giddy flutter. The memories of them together made her smile, which considering all that she had learned in the past hour or so, was quite a feat. And she wanted more.

But there was only one memory left.

Hermione tinkered with the final vial, curious what was so important that it was saved for last.

They were at a wizard restaurant this time, the tablecloths and dress robes just as she had anticipated for their first date. Malfoy sat across from her at the table, an anxious expression on his face. He reached out across the table and grabbed Hermione’s hands.

“I need to tell you something, and I just want you to listen. Okay?” he said firmly.

Hermione nodded, but Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“I mean it. You can’t say anything until I’m done.”

“Just get on with it, will you, Draco?”

There was an instant smile on Malfoy’s face, and Hermione got the feeling that he wasn’t accustomed to hearing his first name out of her lips.

“You just made this infinitely easier,” he said with a smirk. “I know every day is a whirlwind of information for you, and it can’t be easy waking up each morning to learn you’re in a relationship with your former enemy. Hell, it isn’t exactly easy on my end either. But somehow, nearly every day, we make it work. And I realise now, that somewhere along our journey, I’ve come to love you.”

Hermione peered down at her napkin, a vibrant blush streaked across her cheeks. “I can’t say that back,” she whispered.

Malfoy pulled his hands away. “And I don’t expect you to. You wake up each morning not knowing where you are, and the fact that I get to be with you at all is a miracle in and of itself. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to hear you say those words, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to say them myself.”

He reached into his pocket and grabbed a small black box.

Hermione winced back in her chair, clear panic etched across her features. “Draco, I --”

Malfoy chuckled. “Don’t worry. It’s not what you think it is. Just open it.”

When she did, a silver key laid within.

“I know this a big decision to put on you when you’ve only seen snippets of our relationship, but we’ve been dating for several months at this point, and I think it will be good for us. It’d make it easier for me to monitor your memories and exchange them as the day requires, and you’ll always have someone there in the morning to answer your questions. But if that’s too much --”

“Yes,” Hermione said, cutting him off.

“Yes?”

Hermione nodded, a smile on her face. “Yes, I’ll move in with you.”

The final memory faded to black, and Hermione found herself back into the bedroom, the place that she now understood to be both hers and Malfoys. As she looked more closely around the room, all the pieces started to fit together. A handful of the items in the room were hers, but some were his as well: the silver ring with his family crest emblazoned on its surface, the stack of books about defence techniques and protection against the Dark Arts, the broomstick that was tucked away in the corner. Now that she knew, it was so much easier to spot.

Hermione made her way out of the bedroom and slowly proceeded down to the first floor, not bothering to change out of her pyjamas first. On the chest opposite the foot of the stairs, there was a framed picture of her and Malfoy from the park she recognised from the memory, the flower safely tucked behind her ear. She picked it up and grazed her finger over the image, smiling just as brightly as the Hermione in the picture.

She set the framed photograph down and inspected the rest of the room. It was already decorated, but she noticed that the bookshelf was half empty, as if waiting to be filled. Stacks of boxes lined the walls, all marked with the contents that laid within, ranging from clothing to knick-knacks, and multiple boxes labelled _books_.

Suddenly, she heard a voice.

“Morning, Hermione.”

Hermione turned around and saw Malfoy standing there in his own pyjamas, and she could honestly say she had never been so genuinely happy to see him.

She ran up to him, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

He wrapped his arms around her and surrounded her in his embrace, refusing to let her lips leave his -- not that she was trying. His lips were warm and soft, probably the result of a freshly finished cup of tea. He hummed as she grabbed onto his pyjama shirt and drew him in closer, savouring the pure bliss of the moment.

When Malfoy pulled back from the kiss, there was a satisfied smirk on his lips. “So I take it today’s viewing went well?”

Hermione nodded, a blush starting to creep its way up her cheeks. “You could say so. Although if you’re looking for feedback, there were a lot of them, and they took quite a while to get through.”

Malfoy sighed. “I feared that would be an issue this morning, but I didn’t want to skimp or trim any of the memories short today. While you’ve slept over a few times before, last night was your first time since moving in, so I wanted to make sure today was a good day.”

Hermione bit down on her lip and shook her head. “I still can’t believe you did all this for me.”

His fingers found hers and intertwined them together. “What can I say,” Malfoy said with a return of his smirk. “I’ve got a terrible guilt complex.”

Hermione tugged her hand free and shoved him.

“Oh yeah, and I guess the whole ‘I love you’ thing plays a role, too,” he added with a laugh.

Hermione cupped her hand to his cheek and brought him in for another kiss.

As she pulled away, she looked up at him, letting her gaze linger. Perhaps it was the side-effect of having watched the development of their relationship in such a short period of time, but for some reason, she found it so easy to say the words.

“I love you, too.”

Malfoy held his gaze, but concern glossed over him. “You don’t have to say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I know,” Hermione said. “But I want to. And like you said, you wanted to make sure that today is a good day.”

Draco leaned down and kissed her once more. “It’s the best day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please take a moment to let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!


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